


Having Everything

by EikoWest



Category: Dragon Ball Z
Genre: Alternate Reality - Master & Servant, Butler Piccolo, Canon Male-Hermaphroditic Piccolo, Cross-Dressing Kink, Don't Expect Things To Make Sense, Dubious Consent, Exhibitionism, Fingering, Ideologically Sensitive, Implied Promiscuous Gohan, Interspecies Sex, Lemon, M/M, Master Gohan, Masturbation, Mild Angst(?), Modern Gothic Erotic, NSFW, Nonsensical World, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Other, Porn Without Plot, Power Play, Smut, Strangely Fluffly(?), Subservient Piccolo, Uke Piccolo, Unbeta'd, 腐向, 飯Ｐ, Ｐ飯
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-25
Updated: 2019-11-25
Packaged: 2021-02-25 20:54:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,321
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21561784
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EikoWest/pseuds/EikoWest
Summary: Sometimes having everything and getting what you want isn't the same thing…When a young man who has everything but wants the one thing he shouldn't decides to act upon a lifetime of pent-up desires, the lines in place start to blur. A beloved butler will be seduced and a respectable master will delve into his most undisclosed depravity… But who's really the one unravelling who? A Master & Butler PWP. (Formerly titled "The Unravelling". Updated with a slightly modified ending.)(Gee. I gotta say, this summary is too deep for this pointless pwp. That's my muse attempting to stuff a plot in the summary alone because I wouldn't let her put one in the actual story. Sigh. Maybe I'll make a porn with plot version of this someday just to justify it. Merp.)
Relationships: Android No.21/Son Gohan Jr, Piccolo Daimaoh Jr/Son Gohan Jr, Son Gohan Jr/Piccolo Daimaoh Jr
Comments: 5
Kudos: 49
Collections: 「xPiccoloholic.♥︎」





	Having Everything

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, I'm back from my depression slump (sorta). This no-brainer master and butler plotless porn of a one-shot(?) is something I have been working on for far too god-forsakenly long. I just wanted a simple sweet n’ sexy something with our two boys but as always, Musey and I wrestled the whole time trying to get this together because she kept trying to cram a plot into it. Predictably, I got so tired of editing up a storm so I thought: f* it. This is senseless—but hopefully *still* sexy and sweet (it's weird, that, I'm sure of). Sometimes you just gotta let it go! Deal with it, Musey.
> 
> As always, cheers to the wonderful lovelies who always make time to leave some love for struggling fanfictionists like myself via quality comments & Kudos (& gifts)! I truly appreciate you appreciating my work! ♥♥♥

_"If it's in focus, it's pornography, if it's out of focus, it's art."  
_— Billy Kwan

…

_The object lying atop the unmade bed was a coquettish deep purple colour. A two-piece set, skimpy and see-through. It appeared to be held together by only the flimsiest threads, the most intricate appliqués, and the laciest ribbons he’s ever seen…_

He stood perfectly still by the foot of his master’s bed awaiting instructions as per his end-of-the-day routine. It was part of his job to know what or why anything was inside his master’s room; he knew nothing of the curiosity on the bed or the reason behind it. It wasn’t his place to ask trivial questions. If he wasn’t spoken to or permitted to speak, he kept his mouth shut. He functioned strictly by orders; his primary job was to be available for the master at all times for whatever purpose – usually the tasks that his personal secretary or other assistants didn’t cover.

The sound of the shower valve being turned off and the water spray ceasing to a drip pricked his ears. Shortly after, his master’s stately form alighted from the shower room with nothing but a towel hanging low around his trim waist, resting at the very precipice of his hips. Fine golden chestnut brown hairs at the base of his navel rising from his pubic area peeked through and the entirety of his chiseled body glistened with moisture. Toned muscles rippled like waves as brawny arms reached up to lazily towel off excess moisture from his thick mane.

As his master walked passed it, his gaze inevitably fell upon the item on the bed once again.

His master didn’t even bat an eyelash at it—didn’t seem to be perturbed the slightest. Most likely because it was he himself who had put it there in the first place.

Though he has never come into direct contact with the likes of it before, he has seen enough to know: it was an accoutrement meant for the female species – _a_ _woman’s undergarment or lingerie._

He had known his master since childhood; his predilections, pet peeves, all his little and not-so-little idiosyncrasies. But growing up has changed his master a lot, sometimes into an entirely different person, it seemed. The item on the bed was but a representation of such changes; one of the many mysteries of Earthling adulthood that he was itching solve.

_…Perhaps his master was expecting a lady guest to “preoccupy” him this evening to cap off his special day?_

His master was not in any serious relationship at present, nor was he in the habit of fooling around with women—or men. But even those parts of his mould were broken out of every now and then, particularly when his charge was intoxicated or high out of his mind – as seldom as those instances may be… Today had been a long string of activities, mostly of the business kind more than pleasure as per usual. He was positive that his master wasn’t drunk or under the influence of anything; although, peculiarly enough, his master's aura tonight did give off vibes to the contrary…

He knew only too well that his master had more than his fair share of sudden spontaneous caprices out of nowhere (like that time three years ago when he decided—on a whim and for purely rebellious reasons—to join a private orgy; which he was, the very next morning, stringently enjoined to never bring up again), but he was fairly certain that _crossdressing in female apparel_ was _not_ one of his master’s secret or surprise hobbies– then, now, or in the foreseeable future.

“Piccolo-san,” came the master’s staid yet perpetually youthful voice.

Piccolo surreptitiously averted his gaze back to his charge, suddenly self-conscious as he realized that he was being watched closely by those discerning coffee-coloured eyes from the full-length mirror.

“Yes, Master.”

“I see you’ve already found my present for you today.”

Piccolo’s eyes casually darted around the room trying to find anything else that wasn’t there before apart from the purple lingerie. Or at the very least, something that looked more like a present meant for him _and exclusively him_ … But to his disconcertion, he found none.

His eyes returned to the item atop the bed. He tried to size it up again until his brows knotted together in confusion. It’s true, he had hermaphroditic qualities – something that his master was not in the dark about; but all Nameks are dominantly male, regardless… And he was sure that his master knew of that critical fact as well.

 _Was_ _this_ _his_ _master’_ _s way of_ _telling him to get a girlfriend…?_

By the time he sought out his master again, his heart nearly lurched out of his ribcage… So absorbed in scrutinizing his “gift” that he hadn’t noticed that his master was now standing in front of him, studying his reactions… _studying him_.

Droplets of water streaked down his master’s bare shoulders and chest from coal brown hair that still dripped wetness. Usually combed back fringe hung long and low down his forehead, framing intense eyes that continued to arrest him unflinchingly…

Piccolo found himself fighting the urge to take the towel off his master’s hands and use it to dry off the lush head of hair himself, just as he always did as part of his duties when the man before him was but a little child and needed assistance with almost everything. His master was so grown up and a great deal independent now. Sometimes, when stuck in a morbidly sentimental mood, he would wonder why his master still kept him around…

“Well…?” The master carelessly raked back renegade wet strands with his fingers. “Do you like it?”

Taking one last look at the purple lingerie on the bed, Piccolo returned his master’s gaze with an expertly default neutral expression, perfectly masking his perplexion.

“Yes, Master. I like it… Thank you very much.”

The master stared at him wordlessly. Rivulets of moisture from his hair continued to trace the contours of his impeccably sculpted body all the way down to the towel covering his nether regions.

It wasn’t out of the ordinary for his master to give him pointless gifts just for the heck of it. But it was, without a doubt, the first time he has received something as scandalously kinky and unapologetically effeminate. Piccolo assumed that it was simply one of his master’s phases. Whatever reasons or lack thereof behind his master’s actions were irrelevant anyway. It wasn’t part of his job to get involved; he was but there to serve. Theirs was a professional relationship, nothing more-nothing less. Where he had to keep his inhibitions in place, his master was free do whatever he pleased—to indulge in whatever he felt, regardless if it were taboo.

The rules that bound him didn’t apply to his master. Piccolo’s freedom only went as far as his master allowed…

“Well, that’s not my actual gift to you…” A pause. “Before I can give you your actual gift, I need you to put that on first.”

Piccolo’s brain seemed to lag for a moment. He struggled to process what his ears wasn’t so sure it had just heard.

“I beg your pardon, Master… You… wish for me to wear it?”

“Yes.”

“Uhm… R-right now, Master?”

The master didn’t answer at once. He languidly sauntered to his luxurious midnight-blue reading chair and settled into it with his chin upon his thumb and middle finger, index finger pointed upward against his cheek.

“Yes,” he said simply. “Right here. Right now… Do it without taking your eyes off me, as much as possible.”

Piccolo swooned, feeling rubbery around the knees as the full implication of his master’s command started to sink in.

“A-as you wish, Master.”

“Take everything off. I want you only in my gift and nothing else.”

Piccolo was somewhat grateful that his master dimmed the room’s lights to a nice warm lamplight, but… Understandably, it was difficult to feel any measure of comfort in such an awkward situation—if anything, the subtle lighting only seemed to heighten the already palpable tension in the room.

Nevertheless…

The Namek greatly prided himself for his professionalism, and so, with one deep, steadying breath, he expertly tucked away any confusion and discomfort he felt—

And obeyed.

His personalized *Hanley Graves Jr golden pocket watch came off first…

With a crisp click, the chain is unlatched from his belt loop before the timepiece is scooped out of his pocket and set aside.

The pristine white gloves followed next…

Each fingertip is plucked loose from its snug casing with scrupulous deliberation before his entire hand is freed of the covering entirely. The pair is bundled together with the pocket watch on top, and placed on the bed.

He then proceeded to undo the gilded buttons of his perfectly pressed coat in descending order, one painstaking buttonhole at a time. His composed and careful attention to performing the mundane task bellied the nervous anxiety churning in the pit of his stomach; his concentration, indomitable.

The vest, tie, and dress shirt all followed suit, and were soon folded neatly in one pile next to his gloves and pocket watch in one corner of the bed… He was soon down to his trousers and Bolvaint loafers… Both of which were promptly stripped off as well, and set aside with the rest of his belongings.

Piccolo got the job done on auto-pilot, subconsciously having prolonged the ritual of undressing; not wanting to rush into his impending state of déshabillé, even if he knew that nothing he did could forestall the inevitable. But as he stood his full towering height, spectacularly exposed in his glorious nudity… The tightness in his chest, the jitters crawling up and down his loins, and the general inundating nervousness hit him full-force all the same, swallowing him whole like a tidal wave.

The master’s eyes had an edgy predatory gleam to it, unabashedly fastened to his butler’s form for some heart-stoppingly long seconds, hungrily taking in every detail of the Namek’s bare body.

The sight of his master’s rigid posture and ragged breaths, and those light rosy cheeks now blazing crimson made heat pool in Piccolo’s belly and a restless ache throb in his core. But he steeled his nerves and forced himself carry on. He was still only halfway done in fulfilling his master’s instructions…

He still had to wear his “pre-gift”.

Piccolo picked up the first of the flimsy lingerie with utmost care, as though it would actually fall apart from the slightest mishandling. He wasn’t aware of how he managed it, whether it was due to some hidden talent he didn’t know he had, years of unquestioningly faithful servitude, or simply being in some kind of deranged flow– but he was "clothed" in the tiny albeit surprisingly stretchy upper and lower undergarment in no time. The irony of it was how much effort it took to put on something that felt like nothing all…

The scanty fabric only seemed to highlight his chest and his lower private regions like the way neon lights lit up a shop sign at night. It was a ridiculously tight fit all around and he tried not to be conscious of how the part meant to cover his rear just missed the globes of his ass entirely; and instead had sandwiched itself snugly in his hind cleavage…

That same lacy narrow strip of cloth that went under his crotch, dug uncomfortably into the slit of his female sex and ran all the way up over the sensitive hooded nub, where an extra gaudy appliqué design formed an intricate mesh crown around it, as if shouting out to anyone who might have trouble locating his weakest, most vulnerable spot, that _it was_ _right there_ , ready for the taking _._

A single drop of sweat rolled down Piccolo’s temple as he strove to stay on his toes. Straightening up fully inadvertently caused the garment to be embedded further inside him, poking invasively into his delicate raw flesh, but he dared not falter. He stood tall and proud and ready, and despite his compromising plight– with as much dignity as he could muster. A feat no less than commendable. He knew that whatever was expected of him that night, his task was already half done. He mentally congratulated himself for getting past what had to be the most challenging thing ever asked of him to date, if only to ease the apprehension he felt. But he has yet to receive his master’s actual gift. _Surely, i_ _t couldn’t be anything harder_ _than this, right?_

 _Wrong,_ said his hammering heart.

Piccolo was ordered to turnaround. Then face in different directions at certain angles several times. All the while, those hawkish eyes remained riveted on him like a famished predator salivating before he devoured his prey. It felt like a lifetime had gone by before the master was satisfied. By the time he was made to return to his original position of standing still facing his master, his cheeks felt like they needed to be doused of flames. He attempted to regulate his breathing but the air expanded too quickly in his chest and rattled frantically up his throat, making raspy heaving sounds as they slid past his lips. The greater part of his mind had already gone considerably numb at that point; and maybe it was for the best.

_The master looked pleased. That was all that mattered._

Just as he was about to allow himself a smidgeon of relief, thinking that maybe this was all his master wanted: to see him in prurient feminine undergarments—perhaps take a few naughty pictures or videos and such, that was it– his master got to his feet, and somehow, he knew at once that he had celebrated too soon…

Tanned, lithe fingers slipped in-between the towel around those hips _and_ _deftly_ _pushed_ _down_ _._ The towel fell away and pooled at the master’s feet.

Piccolo’s breath caught in his throat.

His master was now completely naked before him…

And fully erect.

A frisson of incomprehensible excitement slithered up Piccolo’s spine. More liquid heat rushed to his twitching groin. He pressed his lips together to suppress any unwanted noises, gripped with so many unfamiliar feelings and sensations then, that he was sure that nothing logical—or dignified—would come out of his mouth.

“Sit on the bed, Piccolo-san. And spread your legs.”

The master’s command was void of emotion as it always was, but his voice was husky and low; deep brown eyes seemingly darker and filled with concentrated purpose.

Again, without a word, Piccolo obeyed, albeit stiffly. His entire body was trembling hard but he had no way of controlling it. When he had done as he was told, looking for all the world like a virgin whore, his master’s erection twitched and rose up further, so stiff and curbed that it was almost touching his abdomen.

Of course, it wasn’t the first time he has seen his master naked. He had already been the boy’s guardian even when he was only a sprout of a Namek himself. Countless maids, nannies, and custodians came and gone. Yet, through it all, Piccolo remained the only consistent fixture in his master’s life. It made him privy to every little one of his master’s secrets growing up, both his strengths and weaknesses. _But this?_ This was definitely new.

It was the first time his master has presented himself this way before him, without any trace of shame or compunction. And it shook Piccolo to the very core…

_Because this time, his master was hard and aroused._

_Because of him._

“Look at me.”

Putting his most neutral mien on the forefront, he carefully redirected his gaze back up to his master’s eyes, which were boring back into him with almost choking fervency, pupils dilated.

“Look as much as you want – at any part of me that you want.”

Burly fingers flattened itself against the smooth plateaus of that golden-tanned chest. Then, very sensuously, dragged down across rows of finely shaped abdominals… Down, until they brushed against fine hairs of that flat pubic mound… Down further until his master’s hand closed around the base of his sizeable manhood.

Slowly, his hand moved up and down the unnerving length of it…

Piccolo swallowed the excess saliva building up in his mouth.

Masturbating was normal – Piccolo knew this. His master indulged in his share of it every now and then, in the privacy of his shower or his sheets; or wherever he felt he could, whenever he needed to. Unless the master ordered him to leave, he was required to be close by or within an unimposing proximity at all times, no matter the circumstances. Piccolo had never actually seen his master do the deed. He _heard_ more than saw. The master had never sought a personal audience in him during this particular activity.

_Until now._

“Nng… Ahh…!” His master’s breaths grew shallower with each grunt as those fingers squeezed and pumped with more deliberation. “…P-Piccolo-san!”

Piccolo felt his own lungs bereft of air. Unconsciously, he had mirrored his master’s deep inhales and harsh exhales; heart thumped hard like a frantic kettledrum that his chest faintly stung from the force of it. He endeavoured to keep his eyes on his master’s face, but it was useless. He couldn’t look away from how sultrily his master was touching himself. The more heated the movements and noises got, the more his throat felt so impossibly dry; there was a lump growing there that made his vision pulse in and out of focus. His fast-moistening centre juddered with primitive need. Piccolo ground his teeth and balled his hands tightly in an effort to keep his urges in check.

Being in his position and with such a high regard for his métier, he had never allowed himself to engage or even entertain the notion of such self-serving activities, even when he wasn’t within the master’s periphery. His commendable discipline had served him well. His mind was trained to treat the activity as simply one of the things his master needed to get out of the way: like eating, sleeping, defecating, etcetera. The master’s personal business was none of his, so he had conditioned himself to largely ignore it. But now…

Clear fluid oozed out of the spasming hole at the tip of the master’s turgid shaft. The squelching sound of slippery flesh sharply being rubbed with blinding friction melded with the soft staccato of their clipped, frenetic breaths.

Piccolo's heart was racing, his temperature rising…

And a most irrepressible desire to touch himself was overtaking him.

“Piccolo-san.”

Piccolo snapped to attention, blinking rapidly.

“Tell me… nngh-hunggh… Do you like what you see?”

Piccolo unconsciously wet his lips with his tongue. He tried to open his mouth but it felt filled with cobwebs. “Ngh…” he swallowed hard. “Y-yes.”

“Yes…?”

“I… I like y-your body, Master…”

“Is that all…?”

“I… I like the way… you touch yourself… in front of me.” Piccolo’s cheeks burned a shade of violet darker than the skimpy babydoll lingerie he was wearing.

The master chuckled softly as he stopped his movements. He padded towards his butler seated at the edge of the bed, chest rising and falling with heavy breaths as he closed the last stretch of distance between them. Piccolo whimpered when he felt more hot, sticky wetness gush from his core without his permission, triggered simply by his master’s heightened proximity. Now so close within his personal space, he was treated to a generous close-up of the angry, pulsating veins lining his master’s huge throbbing erection as more of the sticky colourless discharge drizzled down the length of it…

A finger gently hooked under Piccolo's chin and tilted his head upward slightly so that his eyes were aligned with his master's once again. The master leaned in until the tips of their noses were touching… The lump in Piccolo’s throat quickly expanded to his ears, accompanied by a deafening distant ringing…

Then his master’s lips were pressing roughly into his.

And gravity was nonexistent.

Piccolo’s lips parted of their own accord. The master’s lips were altogether fluffy and sweet like marshmallows; firm and supple like a juicy apple’s. Yet… his kisses were brazen and needy. And if he had any doubts at all about how much of a man the once little boy his master had now become, it was all put to rest then by how immodestly he was being kissed.

The bed’s height was just right that his master was able to dominate his mouth easily without him having to angle his head much or his master having to stoop uncomfortably low. The world was upside-down sideways and spinning faster and faster, the longer the kiss lasted. Before long, all the fight is zapped out of him. He was spineless and melting into those demanding, languid tongue-filled kisses faster than ice cream melting on a hot summer day.

“Kiss me,” the master’s whispered, tickling Piccolo's sensitized lips.

Piccolo shivered as his master kissed him deeper and harder. Even if he’s never been kissed or kissed anyone before in his life, he wanted nothing more than to be able to return the pleasure he was receiving tenfold. He did his best to comply obligatorily, telling himself that he only kissed back out of servitude—as was expected of him. But he knew that was a lie.

_The master felt and tasted so divine._

Piccolo forgot himself completely, responding full-on to his master’s possessive kisses. Not for any other reason anymore but only because he sure as hell wanted to… Because he wanted his master to never stop kissing him… He wanted nothing more than for his master to keep adoring him forever…

_Piccolo_ _had never felt so_ _covetous_ _in all his life._

Crisp, wet smacks and hums filled the spacious room. Their tongues fenced, lips inadvertently bitten into. Piccolo gasped as affectionate licks and suckling made its way down his neck while warm hands diligently stroked his nape. Soon, those hands travelled down his tempting sylphlike body, appreciating every curve and contour and causing heated sparks over his skin where they passed. His hips are then grasped and pulled, and his barely covered sex collided with the master’s rock-hard member.

Piccolo groaned loudly at the sensation, head pitching forward and onto his master’s chest as his body instinctively curled into itself from the intense wave of giddy dizziness. He didn’t know what was happening anymore. All he knew was the master: _his master’s hands on his hips, on his bare ass; his master’s heaving sighs and rumbling moans; his master’s skilled, frisky tongue; his gracefully muscular body; his alluring scent; and that daunting hardness entrenching itself in his most vulnerable spot._

His master had driven him crazy so many times in so many ways before, but this? It was a whole new level of crazy that he has never felt before and he was becoming spectacularly unravelled with feverishly mounting desire…

“Piccolo-san… Touch me,” the master mewled, with almost pained desperation.

Piccolo shivered; he knew he wanted to—in his secret heart of hearts, he had been wanting to for a very long time. Since the master had transformed from a helpless (and annoyingly cute) little child to an impressively fine and capable young man…

He wanted to run his fingers through those soft, wavy strands, even tug at it until the master whimpered… He had fantasized bloody trails beneath his sharp fingernails across his master’s smooth and chiselled back… He longed to flatten his palms against his master’s broad pectorals, chafing those masculine nipples until they were taut as pebbles… And right now, he ached to become acquainted with the exquisite textures of his master’s thick arousal; to capture the sensitive organ in his fingers as his mouth slowly ensconced it… _To feel it twitching and throbbing from deep inside his body…_

The Namek shuddered at the torrential desire that had unintentionally broken free of his vaulted thoughts, aghast at the depravities that even he did not know he harboured. Ironically, now that he was being commanded to act upon those desires, he realized that he wasn’t exactly sure how to begin carrying out the order…

Piccolo stared at the master’s sculpted chest and torso for an intoxicated while, spectacularly overwhelmed…

As if comprehending his dilemma, his master gently pried his clawed fingers from the frayed sheets where they had unconsciously been fisting and unfisting, and guided them to flatten over his chest.

“Touch me anywhere you want, as much as you want. Just… keep your hands on me.” As the master said this, he led Piccolo’s other hand to his erection, the crimson haze on his cheeks brightening to match his Namek butler’s deep purple hues. “If you touch me here… I’ll get harder, see…” He panted lightly. “You can keep making me harder and harder… until I come…”

Piccolo’s fingers closed around the girthy organ more eagerly than he had intended, and squeezed experimentally. His master groaned and immediately greedily recaptured his lips.

This time, the master’s hands slithered beneath the gossamer-thin fabric stretched over Piccolo's pectoral muscles. Those calloused palms kneaded rotationally before dropping lower and massaging his sinewy butler’s well-defined abdominals. Piccolo gnawed his lower lip to resist giving in to the teasing. But even then, a considerable number of shamefully “unprofessional” noises filtered past.

“Lie down… In the very centre of the bed.”

Almost mechanically—still very much on auto-pilot, Piccolo complied. He pushed himself further into the bed and unsteadily shimmied on his rump until he got to the middle. He leaned back and tried to make himself as comfortable as possible in spite of his extremely uncomfortable attire. In the back of his mind, he was grateful there were so many pillows in his master’s bed (his master loved his bed full of pillows). The ridiculous downiness of them against his back and skin soothed away some of the jitters from his being as he sunk into it.

His master wasted no time in crawling on top of him, reconnecting their lips and blissfully indulging in some more indolent kisses while their hands resumed roaming each other’s bodies. By the time his master came up for air, Piccolo was seeing nothing but white rings and exploding stars even behind the veil of his eyelids. His master had somewhat unconsciously dry-humped him through the thin barrier over his sex and as a result he was now sopping wet. He cringed in embarrassment as he felt his fluids copiously drip down his thighs.

“Open your legs,” the master commanded with some urgency.

Piccolo’s breath hitched and stuttered as he strove to part his trembling thighs which at the moment felt heavier than lead.

“Wider.”

Piccolo’s separated his thighs as far as they would go. He never imagined such a simple action could be so unnerving.

His master traced the lining of the material which hung daringly low on his pubic mound, revelling at how silky-smooth and hairless the area was. His hands then pressed further south on either side of the tender plumped up flesh and planting a thumb firmly on each cheek, pulled it apart…

The thin strip of lace passing through the middle then plunged even deeper into the enlarged and already extravagantly lubricated deep-purple crevice, incidentally causing the upper part of the scratchy fabric still afloat to snag onto the semi-swollen nub at its crest more firmly and roughly tug it downward. Piccolo chewed on his lip hard as a violent shudder coursed through him.

“You’re already so wet,” the master marvelled.

Piccolo flushed.

“Is this all for me…? Or is this how much you’re enjoying my present?” the master teased, scooping up some of the viscous wetness and playing with it in-between the pads of his fingers before putting it in his tongue.

Piccolo shivered at the obscenely provocative display, unable to tear his eyes away from the way his master was playing with his most private area, revelling in him—tasting him. Those fingers resumed its places on either side of his quivering entrance and forced his narrow slit open, farther this time, as wide as it would go… Cold air rushed in to fill in the vacuum created as his insides are pried apart. He sucked in a laboured lungful as more tremors shook his spine. He could not remember how to breathe normally or how to think anymore as his master literally leaned in closer and peered into his soul. He could only watch helplessly as more of his undeniable excitement overflowed from his gaping hole, betraying his arousal in the most mortifying way.

The master was hypnotized—completely absorbed in his unchaste undertaking, cheeks heavily tinted and breathing shallow. It was clear that he was far from done debauching his beguiling butler just yet…

Piccolo’s head jerked back as he felt a thumb slowly dipping inside him… When the said digit bumped into the submerged lace, it pushed it inside even further, sloshing it around. The master then brought the base of his palms closer, smooshing opposite sides of his butler’s velvety pink plumpness together, thereby compressing his embedded digit as it continued to wiggle and push the strip of cloth inside him.

“Ahh!” Piccolo unintentionally vocalized, hips bucking and hands flying upward to cover his mouth.

The master proceeded to indulge in this activity for some more heart-stopping minutes, evidently fully appreciating how more and more rich colourless dew bubbled out of his butler’s violated entrance, and how the frilly garment wedged inside it was now fully soaked in that heady-sweet-smelling natural lubrication that was turning him on so badly.

Piccolo was whining and whimpering senseless, no longer able to see how his master was mutely transfixed at the sight of him coming so majestically undone. There was drool steadily accumulating at the corner of his master's shiny red lips; his erection straining and ready to pop.

Unable to resist the enticing view and inviting aroma for much longer, the master finally bent down and allowed his tongue to feast on the foamy undulations, purring in delight as he pressed his mouth full-on to generously partake of all the goodness that his loyal butler had to offer. More muffled moans and breathless babbling floated up from his servant; which only served to egg him on even more.

“Mmnnnph! Nngguuhhh!!!” Piccolo wasn’t able to withstand the merciless assault for much longer. As the full force of his very first orgasm crashed down on him like a devastating tsunami, his hips arched off the bed and he screamed into his balled fist, chewing into it to stifle his noises until he drew blood…

The master did not let up until the entirety of his butler’s climax was rode out, but graciously abated in his actions long enough to allow the Namek to somehow catch up to his breath, waiting patiently until the very last of his spasmodic aftershocks had died down.

Piccolo plummeted into a light-headed daze afterwards, losing the fight to the sudden drowsiness washing over his system. But after a what felt like a lull in time, his master’s lips back on his skin was enough to jolt his body into alertness all over again.

“Did that feel good, Piccolo-san?”

Piccolo scrunched his eyes shut, gritting his teeth as he forced a weak—and very bashful—nod.

“I’m going to try and make you come again, even harder…” his master murmured amidst the aftercare licks and open-mouthed kisses. “Don’t cover your mouth this time… I want to hear you.”

Piccolo shakily did as he was told, letting out a low whine as both his hands were once again guided over his master’s now even more engorged-to-bursting erection. Thanks to all the pillows, he was almost sitting rather than lying down; and with his master practically cradling his buttocks and elevating his hips, it was relatively easy for them to keep their hands on each other…

Squishing noises filled the stillness of the room as his master unceremoniously reinserted his thumb between his swollen folds. He held on for dear life as the digit buried inside him is quickly joined by another thumb while the rest of his master’s robust fingers pressed around his most sensitive external organ – the knob that was the equivalent of a human female’s clitoris and a human male’s penis. Then a rhythmic massage began both inside and outside of his female organ. It was like an all-out invasion, with the enemy slowly and strategically closing in; delicately building up in speed and urgency.

Piccolo writhed and sobbed powerless beneath the overwhelming synchronized stimuli. “Aaaahh!” he nearly howled, voice rising up a notch. His body reflexively tried to repeatedly squirm away from the sensory overload, but without success. “M-master! P-please!” he wheezed after striving to endure the torment for some more horrendous minutes, a sheen of glistening sweat lined his entire body and his own fingers involuntarily cinched his master’s hardness even tighter.

“Are you close?” the master panted.

“I—uuuhhnnggg-ahh…! Nnn!”

By then, jagged heaving breaths and incoherent pleas were all that Piccolo could manage to articulate. But his master seemed to understand just fine, and responded by escalating the pace of his actions even more.

“Has anyone else ever touched you here—this way?”

Piccolo vigorously shook his head, tears stinging his scrunched eyes.

“Have you ever touched yourself like this?”

Piccolo whined, “N-no, Master!”

“So this is the first time you have ever been touched here…”

“Nngg… uuhhnn… Aahh…!!” Piccolo’s hips bucked as his mind began to lose itself to the terrific static of overstimulation all over again– only with much more blinding intensity the second time around. He was approaching his threshold so fast that he couldn’t gather enough air to his lungs and was practically choking on his own gasping sobs.

But then, it all came to an abrupt stop and Piccolo cried out as those thumbs pulled out of him with a pop. The next minute, the dripping wet strip of lacy cloth is fished from inside of him and yanked to one side and he felt his master’s beating member align itself against his abused entrance.

“Say my name and only my name.”

A push. The head of his master’s length pierced him with minimal resistance.

Piccolo’s nails dug into whatever he could manage to grab on to. “Ahh…! Haah… haah… nngg!”

Another push, and the rest of his master is inside of him halfway, only with much more resistance this time. His eyes bulged at the excruciating intrusion; his master felt even bigger than he looked—which is saying a lot. His never-previously-unbreached female passage was clenching his master so hard that he could actually feel every vein and every bump of his master’s solid shaft carving its own unique shape of his insides– reshaping him, branding him… His legs trembled violently along with the rest of him, from the tips of his toes to his lips, all the way to the tips of his antennae.

“Say my name, Piccolo-san!”

“G- Gohaanngghh…!!!”

One final brutal thrust and Piccolo's insides shifted considerably to give way to his master’s formidable mass until there weren’t any spaces left inside of him. He felt so full, so completely impaled around his master’s rock-solid shaft that he couldn’t move at all—couldn't remember how to breathe.

“P-Piccolo-san…”

“G-Guhh… Gohannggh…!”

Stuffed to the brim like this, Piccolo had never felt more complete. All his life had revolved around only one boy, and now, he was literally wrapped around Gohan, embracing all of him so compactly that he felt that their bodies had actually melded into one. His master was unbelievably hard and so tantalizingly textured. He pulsed madly… Almost like that part off him was rejoicing to be so gloriously deep inside him. Pain was frying every fibre of his system but inexplicably, it was pain of the most mind-shatteringly pleasurable kind that he has ever been made to feel.

His master was sucking in deep breaths, trying to gain on his pulse just as hard as he was. His legs were picked up and draped over strong shoulders as his master positioned himself with both arms on either side on the bed propping him up—supporting his weight as he prepared to move, like a runner getting ready to explode into action. Piccolo’s hands flew up to his master’s flexing biceps as he felt the massive organ that was spearing him slowly being extracted almost all the way out… Then the very next second, it plunged back in him as far as it would go. Before he could even cry out or recover, the action is repeated. His master then commenced a consistently paced pistoning in and out of him, which gradually increased in speed and force and depth.

Piccolo attempted to regulate his breathing to no avail. Everything was spinning in a swirl of psychedelic colours, mindless utterings spilling from his lips. His master was incessantly pounding into him now, the delicious friction it created in his inner walls left his eyeballs rolled back in its sockets and a steady stream of drool escaping down his lips. The pumping would speed up to an incredible pace only to stop suddenly whenever the tell-tale spasms and clipped gasps signalling his nearing climax started.

He was denied his orgasm this way in what felt like an endless mind-fucking dance and Piccolo wasn’t cognizant anymore of the mess that he had been reduced to, or how uncharacteristically desperate he was begging for release. His master would kiss his lips in half-hearted apology only to cruelly resume teasing him… over and over again. At some point, Piccolo was sure that he would go round that proverbial bend before he could over the proverbial edge…

Just as his master was seemingly yielding and building up to a delicious pace, once and for all, setting him up to finally finish—

_A crisp knocking came at the door._

Amidst the thick, disorientating fog of sex and lust, both of them instinctively froze.

Piccolo’s heart nearly stopped then and there as he remembered that the door to his master’s room was unbolted. He had never found any reason to secure it before; that was left entirely to his master's discretion. But for some reason… The kinky idea of someone actually catching him being fucked senseless by his master made the situation even more unbelievably erotic in his delirious mind.

“Mr Son, are you ready to leave? The guests are all waiting for you at your party. Your favourite sports car has been brought to the driveway.”

It was the voice of the master’s secretary, Number Twenty-One.

Piccolo has been around enough people head over heels for their master to know by now that she was secretly one of them. While she has never overtly proclaimed anything confirming his inference– the entranced, stolen glances; the escalated heartbeats; the added sparkle in her eyes and the distinctive alacrity in her voice when she spoke to him and him alone… It wasn’t easy to miss at all, if you knew what to look out for…

“No, I’m not,” Gohan called out, his eyes never leaving Piccolo's.

Despite being fully impaled in his master's daunting erection and feeling every vibration from it as he spoke, Piccolo couldn’t help but be in awe. No one would be able to guess that Gohan was currently balls deep in his butler from how casually he spoke.

“Don’t wait for me, head on over there and cover for me, will you?”

“Pardon me, but I am obligated to remind you, sir. Your mother and your circle of friends have gone out of their way to attend your celebration this year. I should think that they would be very disappointed if—”

Piccolo’s insides quivered as Gohan snorted out a hearty—but perceptibly mirthless—laugh; the electrically-charged tingles radiated outward from their point of connection to his extremities.

“…‘ _Gone out of their way’,_ huh?” his master scoffed to himself, bitterness tingeing each syllable. He snapped his head towards the direction of the door and projected his voice again: “Funny, I don’t recall seeing any 'friends' or 'family' on the guest list, Number Twenty One…”

“Ah… I- I beg your forgiveness, Mr Son. B-but, your father insisted—”

“Then they’re _Father’s_ guests; not mine. I’m sure you’ll find ways to ‘entertain’ them out of their ‘disappointment’. Give them my _deepest_ _apologies_. Tell them… that I have far more– _pressing matters…_ to attend to at the moment.”

There was hesitant shuffling by the door, followed by an interlude of weighted silence.

Piccolo held his breath and kept his eyes tightly shut. He could almost hear the doorknob turning… He could practically see Number Twenty One’s shocked expression once she entered the room… It made his heart thunder even more wildly in his ears. For reasons that eluded him, he felt strangely disappointed that she didn’t barge in on them… But, at last…

“Alright then. Very well, Mr Son.”

“Oh, and Number Twenty-One…?”

“Yes, Mr Son?”

“I don’t wish to be disturbed. Cancel everything tomorrow and take the rest of the night and the next day off as soon as the party wraps up… Understood?”

The pause that followed felt too long for Piccolo.

“Understood, Mr Son.”

Gohan looked back into Piccolo’s eyes just as a drop of sweat launched off the tip of his finely sculpted nose and landed on the Namek’s lower lip. Before Piccolo knew what he was doing, his tongue had instinctively darted out and lapped it up. He felt his master shiver and stiffen further inside him before his lips were crushed in a bruisingly rough kiss.

“I shall take my leave now. Happy Birthday; and I hope you enjoy the rest of your evening, Mr Son.”

“I’m sure I will,” his master said breathlessly in-between kisses, but not loud enough for anyone else but Piccolo to hear.

After some long minutes of indulging in their torrid lip-lock, Gohan slowly resumed the rocking of his hips until he was once again entering a feverish pace. The wet mushy sound of slapping flesh increased in volume as his thrusts gained velocity and reached a fantastic speed and friction that had Piccolo moaning deliriously in rapt ecstasy.

This time, Piccolo wasn’t deprived of his release.

When he peaked and his second real and infinitely more soul-shattering orgasm finally ensued, he forgot everything completely except the man who was taking him—his love; his life. His mind-numbing scream blended with his master’s long and guttural roar. The succession of rhapsodic implosions racking the entirety of him seemed never-ending. Tears and drool streaked down his face from the extreme sensations. _Too much unrelenting pain and pleasure…_

Piccolo allowed his master to take him for as long and as much as he pleased, until he felt his master's hot load explode in the deepest part of him, filling him again and again until every drop of his seed had been deposited inside him and their mixed come was leaking out of him in spurts. When his master’s weight finally fell atop him and remained there completely spent, his own series of orgasms had also been exhausted to the very last minute after-spasm. With what little that remained of his energies, he wrapped his arms around his master’s head on his chest, a warm and fuzzy feeling that he vowed to forget later when he woke up lingered in his heart, but one he held on to for as long as he could, before he succumbed to a dreamless slumber…

He felt no need to be greedy; he may not own a single thing, but he already had everything after all.

**The End(?)**  
(Contingent on my wavering sanity, this may or may not have an epilogue.)

**Author's Note:**

>  ***Hanley Graves** \- spoof of Henry Graves because I am not sure if I can use it for this.
> 
> Was never happy with the original ending so I added a minor modification. And with it, changed the title.
> 
> * * *
> 
> **Dragon Ball/Z/GT/Xenoverse/Super** /etc. belong to their respective owners. I own nothing except this derivative fanwork which I do not profit from.
> 
> * * *
> 
> (2019/02/13-2019/11/26)


End file.
